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| The point at which the cinema collectively lost all composure |
So I've just returned from a screening of Hope, a Korean drama directed by Lee Joon-ik, and I simply must rave about it. This was most definitely one of the best films I've seen this year, though it gave my heart strings a good workout!
Based on a true story, the film dealt with the heavy theme of child sexual assault and it's devastating impact following the rape and brutal assault of an 8-year-old girl (named Hope) on her way to school. The attack results in lifelong physical and emotional scarring that leaves the affected family scrambling to pick up the pieces of the life they had before the incident. The plot takes a devastating turn when a traumatised Hope refuses to see or communicate with her father, leading him to dress up as her favourite cartoon character so that he can be by her side through the difficult recovery. Simultaneously, the film addresses the rocky relationship of her parents, revealing Hope's mother's unnoticed pregnancy and highlighting the lack of communication between husband and wife. Progressively we see these relationships begin to repair as the family learns a new way of living, finding glimmers of hope and beauty amid the pain and tragedy of their journey.
Hope's pacing, character development and aesthetic were just a few of the features that really made this film so beautiful to experience. We are carried through as though we were there, lingering on the stunningly symbolic moments between Hope and her father while simultaneously exploiting the art of suggestion to avoid holding our hand throughout. Hope's transformation following the attack has been handled with such grace that I found myself wondering how they managed to capture both vulnerability and selflessness so harmoniously. The cinematography and colour of the film aided the experience perfectly, with brightly coloured, clear shots reminding us of the youthful perspective that Hope partially retained. Additionally, the use of opportune close ups never failed to draw us into the emotional encounters that inevitably littered a film of its nature. Perhaps one of Lee Joon-ik's most beautiful shots was from one of the darkest, yet sweetest moments in the film. We are positioned from the perspective of Hope's father when he attempts to approach her after the attack and see, from across the room, her sitting upright on a hospital bed with a white sheet over her head. The composition of this shot conveys stunningly, a sense of her isolation that coincides with the symbolism of the sheet as a veil representing both her innocence and shame. For this shot, he has tastefully subdued the favoured childlike colour scheme to reveal a blue/green clinical tone accented only by mechanical monitors and the small red toy Hope clings to. A visually stunning representation that compliments perfectly, the devastating conversation taking place between father and daughter in which the extent of the damage to their relationship is realised.
Overall, I cannot say enough about the brilliance of this film. It's aesthetic, taste and style really resonated with me and, despite watching from the perspective of an English-speaking western viewer, I felt very little was lost in translation due to the excellent visual communication. I would recommend this film to anybody with a love of beautiful filmmaking (so everybody!) although now warn you that it does come with an unavoidable waterworks hazard.
Evidence of attendance:
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